A Midnight Swim
by IcyWaters
Summary: With the Headless Horseman in hot pursuit, Sergeant Garcia leads his lancers to the safety of the lake. Companion piece to "The Haunting of Los Angeles." Based on the Walt Disney Zorro series.


Disclaimer: This story is based upon characters appearing in the Walt Disney Zorro television series. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made. I don't own 'em, I'm just a fan wanting to keep the spirit of a favorite show alive.

Author's Note: This story is dedicated to alicewiggles and miXiZ, both of whom were eager to learn if Sergeant Garcia made it to safety that fateful night.

* * *

**A Midnight Swim**

by  
IcyWaters

"It's the Ghost of the Mad Monk!"

A sea of shouts and shrieks blanketed the night as soldiers scrambled clear of the barracks, tripping over one another in their haste. Sergeant Garcia's bellowing sliced through the madness, drowning out the cackling of the faceless ghost hot on their heels and the bone chilling screams of the Headless Horseman lurking in the plaza.

"To horse, lancers, to horse! We must get to the lake! It is our only chance!"

Much to his horror, the premonitions came true. The ghost rose from his grave once again, this time summoning his friend, the misfortunate Hessian, to help free Padre Felipe from jail.

Garcia leaped onto his mount with an agility more befitting a man half his girth. Digging his boots into the animal, he led the charge out of the cuartel, nearly trampling Capitán Monastario in the frenzy. Outside the gates, he banked a hard left to evade the giant, head-wielding phantom prowling the shadows.

Within seconds, they reached the northern outskirts of the pueblo. Garcia summoned his courage and dared to glance over his shoulder. His eyes widened upon seeing the black, headless silhouette emerging from between buildings, complete with a skull alit with fire tucked under its arm.

His hand instinctively grasped his neck. "Madre de Dios, it claimed another victim!"

Garcia pressed his horse harder, soaring over the hills. Afraid to look back, he kept his gaze aimed squarely on the horizon, praying that he made it to the lake before the Hessian stole his head. While his capitán often said he possessed the brains of a donkey, Garcia was quite fond of his head – and he preferred to keep it firmly on his shoulders.

"We are losing him," Private Ortega hollered.

The sergeant swallowed hard and snuck a peek. Ortega was right. He exhaled the breath he was holding when he spied the Headless Horseman lagging behind on a distant hill.

Hope swelled in Garcia's chest. "Ha, we are outrunning him!"

The rolling landscape leveled out where the road to safety veered to the right. Hooves thundered on smooth dirt as the soldiers sustained the mile-eating gallop with renewed enthusiasm. Another peek revealed they had lost their pursuer. Garcia's chubby face curled into a wide grin when the moonlit bathed lake came into view.

"We made it, lancers!"

The words no sooner left his mouth than a shadow—a hideous shadow without a head—emerged from a thicket of trees a few yards away. "Aieee!" His pulled on the reins in horror causing his horse to rear.

Ortega gasped. "Madre de Dios, how did he do that?"

"He is a blood sucking phantom!" Sanchez exclaimed, his voice trembling.

As the soldiers stared at the nightmare sprung to life, the horseman raised a flaming skull. Garcia screamed again and urged his mount toward the other end of the lake, but the animal neighed in matching fear, refusing to budge. Jumping off the saddle, Garcia ran full speed ahead and barreled into the water. Following his lead, the lancers pushed past each other and leaped in with a splash.

They huddled together in the middle of the lake, gaping at the black spirit. On the rocky bank, its giant horse snorted and kicked at the dirt. Garcia half expected the beast to breathe fire. It made a beeline toward their mounts, frightening them away.

"Our horses," Sanchez cried.

"He has us trapped," Ibarra whispered.

Ortega swam to his sergeant's side. "The Hessian cannot get to us here."

Garcia nodded. "Sí, we are safe. Don Diego was right. It does not like the water."

The Headless Horseman raised the skull he lopped from his victim and launched it in their direction. It landed with a splash, an eerie orange glow emanating from the eyes, nose and mouth.

"Aieee!" Garcia thrust his men aside as the ghastly object floated closer. "Out of my way, babosos!"

"Wait, Sergeant." Private Delgado reached out to snatch the skull. He held it up. "This is a gourd."

Garcia stopped his flailing. "What do you mean it is a gourd?"

"Look," Delgado offered it to his sergeant, "it is hollowed out and there is a candle fastened inside."

"But who would…" Garcia frowned. He raised his chin and watched as the Headless Horseman waved to them before vanishing into the darkness. "That rascal Zorro tricked us again."

Ibarra chuckled. "Look at it this way, Sergeant. At least you are not seasick."

"That is true–" The proud smile drained from Garcia's lips when his stomach suddenly churned. He raised a hand to his puffed out cheeks as moonlight glistened off the gentle ripples in the water, emphasizing the now violent back-and-forth rocking motion. "Make way, lancers, make way!" He sloshed a path to dry land with a chorus of laughter ringing out from behind.

* * *

Bernardo slowed Cometa to a stop at an alcove a short distance from the lake. He shrugged out of the harness he and Diego constructed, taking care to hide it from view. Satisfied no one would discover it before he had a chance to return, the mute pulled a cloak from the saddlebag and fetched the hat draped over the saddle horn to complete his transformation.

Zorro's helper climbed on the large draft horse and circled back to the thicket of trees by way of the same trail that served as an earlier shortcut. He chuckled silently when he witnessed the soldiers wading out of the water, looking like a bunch of drowned rats. Amid the mumbles and groans, one of the privates, still clutching the glowing gourd, tried to scare Sergeant Garcia.

While Bernardo enjoyed the comical show, he had work to do. He secured Cometa where she would not react and located the items he stashed earlier. Gathering them in his arms, he scouted the best angle for the upcoming attack.

Bernardo set the noisemaker—a hollowed out gourd fashioned with a string that vibrated when pulled—at his knees within easy reach. He crouched next to a boulder and propped the bow against his shoulder. Using matches, he lit the tip of an arrow, lined up the nock it and drew it back, taking careful aim. Zorro's reputation hinged on his accuracy.

As the flaming arrowed whooshed toward its target, he grabbed the noisemaker.

One more task still awaited his deft touch.

* * *

Sergeant Garcia sighed. "It is a long walk back to the pueblo."

"What about our horses?" Ortega asked.

"They will reach the cuartel before us. Capitán Monastario is not going to be happy." Garcia took a few steps forward when the sloshing in his boots became too much to bear. He found a nice flat rock to sit on and began to pull them off when a better idea took shape. "Private Delgado, remove my boots."

Delgado grunted, but set the gourd down and obeyed orders. He tugged the first boot off and emptied the water. Just as he managed to get the second removed, a sinister moan reverberated in the night.

Garcia gulped. "What was that?"

"I-I don't know," Delgado replied, the color draining from his face.

"Look!" Sanchez shouted, pointing at a streak of light further on down the bank. The lancers stared in alarm as ghoulish faces, each the size of a human skull, lit up one by one, the cluster slowly taking the shape of a 'Z'. Some of the expressions were downright macabre with their sharp teeth and narrow eyes, while others wore goofy smiles.

When the final skull was ablaze with an unearthly orange glow, Garcia pressed his lips together. "That rascal is at it again. The capitán is definitely not going to like this." He waved to his men. "Let's go."

Several hours later, guided by a soft luminescent moon, the weary soldiers reached the plaza. To the sergeant's dismay, the cuartel gates remained wide open. He swallowed hard. This did not bode well. Zorro must have doubled back to free Padre Felipe and locked the commandante in jail again.

Heaving a sigh and preparing himself for the tirade to come, his eyes traced to the cells. Just as he figured, the padre was gone, but he was mistaken on the other count. All the cells were empty. Where was the commandante? Somehow, he knew this would be entirely his fault. He wished Zorro did not get him into so much trouble.

As the lancers began whispering amongst themselves, he detected a slight movement from the corner of his vision. Capitán Monastario rose from the steps outside his office.

"Babosos! Idiotas! Estúpidos! Where have you been? Your horses came back hours ago."

Monastario stalked toward his sergeant, pausing in his tirade long enough to observe the boots Garcia clutched at his chest and the sorry state of their uniforms. "What happened to you? Did you idiotas bathe with your clothes on?"

Before Garcia could form an answer, the commandante pressed a palm to his forehead and emitted a low growl. "Do not tell me you rode all the way to the lake?"

"Sí, it was the only safe place from the Headless Horseman."

"Baboso, how many times must I tell you? There are no such things as ghosts, phantoms, specters or headless horsemen! It was Zorro, you fat idiot. He freed Padre Felipe–"

"That is nice." Garcia cleared his throat. "I mean, that is bad."

Monastario's fingers curled into fists at his sides. "As I was saying, Zorro freed Padre Felipe while you were being chased by your own shadows."

"Oh, no, mi Capitán, it was the fox who chased us. That rascal left a large 'Z' made of fiery gourds. It would have been very pretty, too, had it not been so scary. He carved little faces in them." Garcia smiled. "He is a talented fellow for a bandit."

"That is enough, Sergeant," Monastario said through gritted teeth. He glared at his lancers. "All of you change into proper uniforms. I want you looking like soldiers of the King's Army, not outcasts from a military academy. Then you will mount up and search the hills for Zorro."

"But, mi Capitán, I am tired and my feet hurt. The road was filled with rocks and there were snakes–"

"Your neck will hurt when it is stretched by the noose if you do not obey orders, Sergeant."

"Sí, mi Capitán."

"If you return empty-handed, I will transfer each and every one of you to a post in the middle of the Mojave Desert." Monastario leaned forward until his nose was inches from Garcia's. "And there are no taverns in the Mojave Desert."

Garcia choked while mustering up a nod. "Sí, mi Capitán. Come on, lancers, let us get changed." He turned to hobble to the barracks when a loud moan made him jump. "It is the Ghost of the Mad Monk!"

"You baboso, it is Zorro." Monastario drew his sword and issued commands. "Delgado, Ibarra, keep sharp watch on the rear wall. Sanchez, Ortega, cover the courtyard." While the four scurried to position, he indicated half of the remaining troops. "Prepare your horses for pursuit. Sergeant, you and everyone else come with me. Whatever you do, do not let that masked menace get away this time."

Garcia dropped his boots and drew his saber. He followed his commanding officer out the gate when two balls of fire streaked across the dark sky from opposite directions. The sergeant gasped when they hit their targets.

Golden flames illuminated a face near the tavern while another eerie visage lit up at the base of the well. One by one, more came to life. When the last candle ignited, Zorro's makeshift skulls lined the streets of Los Angeles wearing a myriad of expressions. Dozens more of the hollowed out gourds and melons encircled the well.

"I told you they were pretty, Capitán."

Monastario growled. "Get rid of them, baboso, before anyone sees this fiasco."

Garcia crinkled his brow. "But you ordered us to ride out and find Zorro."

"Never mind that. Just get rid of those abominable things!" Twitching with fury, Monastario sheathed his blade and stormed to his office. He no sooner shoved the door open than he halted in his tracks.

Once again, a flickering pumpkin carved with the letter 'Z' sat on his desk.

**The End**


End file.
